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Some writers wouldn’t dream of what I did this afternoon, but then, I’ve been hell-bent on organizing and taking back (from the digital world) my life, so I guess there’s no sin in my act.

Sorting through old journals, I realized that I had too many where I’d only written a page or ten, and from so many years ago that obviously I’m not going to write in those again. Besides, I’m a card-carrying member of the Moleskine-Rhodia club for life, making revisiting these old, tired, and frankly, ugly journals from the past less likely.

So like many changes underway (stay tuned for some interesting details), off with their heads! Or, more accurately, off with their covers…and blank pages…and wire bindings. Ouch. Even though it’s “for a good cause,” it still stings a bit. Sacrilege? Perhaps.

By definition, most of us see our journals or diaries as private realms. I suspect few of us feel safe enough to write freely in our Moleskines or journals, always slightly suspecting someone might read them when we’re not around. In a former relationship of mine where we were both journalers, there was an unwritten rule of journal privacy, but how absolute was that? The pull to read another’s inner thoughts can sometimes be too great even for the most honest among us.

Consider the current plight of Prince Charles:  a former, ostensibly trusted, staff member copied pages from his private diaries and sold them to the British press, and not just from one journal but a total of eight of the Prince’s collections of personal views and diatribes. To date, the only exposure has been some rather unflattering remarks aimed at the Chinese takeover of Hong Kong (The Mail has published only one excerpt so far). Embarrassing, but likely not as much as that yet to be revealed…assuming the current lawsuit doesn’t reverse the malicious intent of his former staffer.

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